Pas de Deux
by Phantom Rosabelle
Summary: There are dances that her body remembers. Now a series of 500 word semi-related Sharon/Andy ficlets.
1. Pas de Deux

**Notes: **At some point while I was writing this I complained to my girlfriend that I was writing almost porn of people I don't even ship. She was like, "um, probably because you ship them." She's probably right. Which probably means there will be more, eventually.

**Pas de Deux**

**rosabelle**

She laughs, after, and lays her head on his chest.

"You should know," she says into the warm darkness, "that I do not casually engage in sexual intercourse—"

"Do we have to call it that?"

"Would you care to suggest an alternative?"

"I just thought you would've picked something a little more, I dunno, romantic." His arm curves around her shoulders, fingers trailing up and down her arms.

It makes her shiver and that makes her giddy, because no one has made her shiver in a long, long time. "You'll have to earn romantic, Lieutenant."

"What, you want me to take you to dinner?"

She nuzzles his chest. "Mmm."

"Should I bring you flowers too?"

"I like lilies," she murmurs, and smiles into his skin.

Years ago, her ballet school had done _Swan Lake,_ and she had danced the role of Odette. It was her senior year of high school, and the last year she'd ever danced.

She still has the shoes, somewhere.

She cannot remember the name of the boy with whom she danced the _pas de deux_, nor even his face—but she remembers the touch of his hands, and she remembers the dance.

On restless nights, she soothes herself to sleep by humming the tune and running through the steps in her mind. She thinks that she could perform the entire thing from memory, every last _plié_ and pirouette, if she had the strength to do it safely.

There are other dances that her body remembers.

Dances that leave her breathless and aching and smelling of him, her lips swollen and his arms scored with her fingernails. She presses her lips to one of the marks, and feels him stir.

She reaches up to touch his face, feeling out every wrinkle and line, everything that she'd noticed but hadn't taken the time to fully appreciate earlier. His eyelids flutter against her fingertips and she grows warm with delight.

She's been lonely, and she thinks this is what she's missed the most, this drowsy, languid _after_ where she is sore and satisfied and content.

It's something she has not allowed herself in twenty years, and she means to indulge herself now.

Her skin glides against his when she stretches.

There will be a next time, one where she allows him to be tender with her the way that he wanted to be, and another time where they do all the intimate things that make her breath hitch to remember them. There may be many more times after that. But tonight, his kisses have left bruises on her breasts and he held her hips so tightly that she can still feel the pressure of his fingers.

Tonight has been everything that she needed, and more.

He speaks her name, voice so different now than before, when he whispered it against her neck just to feel her tremble.

She closes her eyes and hums in response, and she falls into a sleep where her heart beats in rhythm with another's.


	2. Awakening

**Notes: **This was supposed to be a oneshot. Now it's... not. I make no promises, but it may become a series of loosely connected ficlets if I feel the urge to write more. I'll leave it marked as complete, though, because there's no plot to be found here. Thank you all for your lovely comments on the first "chapter." You guys are fantastic.

**Awakening**

**rosabelle**

She wakes several times during the night. Never enough to open her eyes, but enough to reach for the comforter that's slipped away and tuck it around herself. Enough to be aware that it is her bare skin the silky sheets caress, and that there is a warm body at her side.

Each revelation alarms her at first, and then she wakes a little more. Enough to remember, and she hums to herself and slips back into a comfortable sleep.

When she finally opens her eyes, it is morning. Light spills in through in the blinds, and wakes to find him contemplating her in lazy silence. The comforter has slipped again, down to her waist, and he doesn't pretend not to watch her.

She bites her lip and stares back, warmth in the pit of her belly from his open admiration.

The last time she'd shared a bed with a man, she had lain awake the entire night afterwards. The hundred times before, he'd touched her without thought for her own pleasure and she'd said nothing. The hundred and first was once too many, and she'd turned away from him and cried silently until dawn, all the truths that she had been avoiding suddenly very plain to her. There was no trust left between them, and her husband no longer loved her.

In the morning, she'd made herself a cup of coffee and asked him to leave.

She wonders now how different her life would've been if she'd divorced him then, instead of waiting all these years.

There is no way to way to know.

But this man, the one kissing her good morning with his tongue caressing hers and his fingers curled around her hair, unbothered that her teeth are unbrushed and that she still wears traces of last night's make-up... she is enjoying herself with this man.

She kisses him again, a short brush of her lips against his.

"Sleep well?" His voice is low with sleep, and his breath on her cheek makes her squirm.

"Mmm." She lays back, arms stretched leisurely over her head. She smiles up at him with no trace of embarrassment when he eyes her breasts. It is nice, feeling desirable. "Yes."

"You hungry?" His fingertips, rough and yet gentle, brush her thigh. "I know a place."

"Are you offering to take me to breakfast?"

"Hey," he says, and now his palm is warm against the inside of her thigh. "I can be very romantic."

"Breakfast—" Her breath hitches when his touch slides higher, inch by inch. "Sounds wonderful. But maybe—not _just_ yet."

"You sure?" His touch is infuriatingly light. "They have great omelets."

"I think I could stand to wait another hour," she murmurs, closing her eyes with a shiver.

She catches her breath when he finds what he's looking for and then he kisses her again with a murmured, "aye, aye, Captain" that makes her hum with laughter, and with no further thought, she gives herself over to enjoyment.


	3. Adjustments

**Notes: **... ongoing ficlet series, it is. This one directly follows the last one, but the other ideas I have are all sort of random and unrelated. I'm also open to suggestions, if there's anything y'all want to see.

And thank you all for keeping me entertained through this _unfairly long_ hiatus. SIX AND A HALF HOURS TO GO.

**Adjustments**

**rosabelle**

It's a late brunch they sit down to, rather than breakfast, seated before the bay window of the café Andy swears by. Sharon has forgotten the last time she went on a date (is this even a date, she wonders), and she is hard-pressed now to contain her smile. She presses her lips together and contents herself with studying the menu while he studies her.

The place is infused with the smells of fresh coffee and pastries. She breathes it in deeply and orders a latte with an extra shot of espresso; he asks for hot tea and gives her a look.

"What can I say, I had a late night and an early morning." She pauses. "And you _do_ know that tea is caffeinated, don't you?"

"What, do you think I'm an idiot?" He smiles, but his voice is uncharacteristically soft when he adds, "Sharon."

He draws her into his gaze. "Is this... good?"

She lowers her eyes to her menu without seeing a word of it, and worries her lower lip between her teeth. "If you have to ask if I'm enjoying myself, Lieutenant Flynn, I may have to seriously question your investigative abilities."

"I can't wait to read that evaluation, Captain." His amusement is clear, but the evasiveness of her answer bothers him. She can see it in the way he leans away from her just a hair, in the way the corners of his smile waver.

In that moment, it bothers her too.

She wraps her fingers around her water glass—it is too cold, too small to feel comforting in her hands, but her coffee hasn't come yet and she reaches for the glass without thinking.

"To tell you the truth," she says quietly, "this isn't where I thought I would be. With... anyone."

In some ways, she feels more naked in the face of her honesty here than she did when he was kissing her bare skin.

"And now that you are?"

"I _am_ enjoying myself." She slides her hands into the pockets of her sweater instead. The gesture calms her, and her fingers seek comfort from the soft fabric. "But I also... I've had a long time to get used to being alone and I have to tell you, I don't mind it. In a lot of ways, I have to say I prefer it. So this—_us_—is an... adjustment."

"An adjustment," he repeats. Slowly. Cautiously.

"Yes."

"Are you?"

"Adjusting?" She considers that when the server arrives with their drinks. She orders a vegetable omelet, the only thing she remembers from the menu, and takes a sip of coffee. It's perfect—strong, and just shy of being too hot. She takes another sip.

"I think it's too soon to tell. You might ask me again," she adds. "Say... Monday night, over dinner."

"Oh yeah?" He smirks at her now, all traces of his earlier concern vanishing.

She smiles in answer, watching him from beneath her eyelashes. "I hope you like Italian food."


	4. Hands

**Notes:** This one strays into mild M-rating territory, so... be aware, I guess?

**Hands**

**rosabelle**

His hands.

He loves her with them, fingertips dancing all along her spine and gently following the curve of her hips. He savors her with his fingers and his mouth, until she lies panting and boneless on the bed, eyes closed and a smile on her face. Some nights, she finds it exquisite.

Tonight, it is torturous.

He teases her breasts and her thighs and kisses a slow line delicately across her stomach, until she whines and grasps at his hair.

"More," she breathes, when _finally,_ he slides a hand between her legs and strokes her there. "More of that."

Instead, he shifts atop her and kisses her neck, just at the base of her throat. His hands come to rest lightly on her waist. Her eyes close as she tries very hard not to squirm against him in frustration, and she sucks in her breath as he sends tingles down her spine with his kisses.

"I could phrase it as an order," she says, sounding breathless to her own ears as she combs her fingers through his hair.

"Do you think so?" She can hear the grin in his voice, and it makes her smile too.

"Mmm." Her wandering fingers reach the base of his neck and she drags her nails across his shoulders, pleased when he grunts in her ear in response. "I'm giving it serious consideration."

"Haven't you heard?" he teases, and nuzzles her throat. "I can be insubordinate."

She inhales, murmuring back, "Not tonight."

"No?"

"No," she says, and wriggles neatly out of his hold.

He lets her roll him onto his back, and smirks up at her when she straddles his hips.

She can't help giggling in return. Sometimes, she cannot escape the sense that she has been blessed with unusual luck.

His hands are gentle on her thighs, fingernails scraping her skin as they slide inwards. A shiver runs through her and she closes her eyes, letting herself just enjoy the sensation. Then he stumbles across the spot just above her knee and she squeals in surprise before she can stop herself.

He pauses, mischief in his eyes. "Interesting."

She does her best to glare at him. "Don't you _dare._"

"I'm thinking it could be too good a chance to pass up" he says, but when she grasps his wrists firmly in her hold, he makes no move to free himself. "Who'd have guessed?"

She's tempted to retort that he certainly wasn't supposed to. Instead, she says, "If you make me laugh, it'll wake Rusty. If that happens, _you_ are going home and _I _have no intentions of leaving this bed tonight."

She swears that's a pout she sees on his face, but it's soon replaced by a hopeful grin. "No intentions, huh?"

She shifts her hold on him to pin his hands beside his head as she drapes herself across his chest. Poised with her mouth just level with his she breathes, "None," and kisses him, long and slow and deep.


	5. Five Pancakes

**Notes:** And another one. Thank you all for being such a lovely audience. :) **  
**

**Five Pancakes**

**rosabelle**

"So," Rusty says. He pads barefoot into the kitchen, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Lieutenant Flynn's in our shower."

She chokes on her coffee.

"God, Sharon, _really?_" He shakes his head at her, and then grabs a banana before joining her at the breakfast bar. "Who _else_ would it be?"

When she coughs, he rolls his eyes and pats her gently on the back. He seems more affectionately amused than anything else, which reassures her. She still worries that, despite what he tells her every time she asks, her seeing Andy will stir up memories of his mother that he would rather leave settled.

"You know that you don't, like, need my permission, right?" he says, when she cautiously broaches the subject again. "I still think it's weird, but you're not traumatizing me or anything, and you're not responsible for me anymore, anyway."

"I'm perfectly aware that I don't need your permission." She frowns at him over her coffee cup. "And I'm afraid that if you were operating under the assumption that I released myself from all responsibility towards you the moment you achieved legal adulthood, you'll be very disappointed."

Rusty swallows the last of the banana. "I'm not a kid anymore, Sharon. That's all I'm saying."

"Doesn't matter." She lays her hand against his cheek. "You'll always be a child to me."

He sighs.

"If you feel like you're lacking in adult responsibilities, you can always pay rent," she suggests wryly. It's a suggestion they both know will never come to fruition. He's taking an ambitious number of classes this quarter and working too—she sees so little of him as it is, and... well, she thinks it's good for him to, for once in his life, be able to spend his money on luxuries instead of necessities.

She worries that she's becoming one of those mothers who baby their youngest forever.

The waterfall hum of the shower ceases.

Sharon smiles before she can help it.

"He makes you happy," Rusty says quietly.

She nods.

"You deserve to be happy, Sharon." He stands and kisses her cheek, touching her shoulder as he passes. "You want some breakfast?"

"That—that would be nice." Sharon stares, but he continues on to the kitchen as if it were nothing. Her face glows strangely warm, but she chews her lip until it hurts. If she cries, he'll never do it again.

When an arm settles around her shoulders, Sharon tucks her head against Andy's arm with a murmured, "Hi."

"Hi." He smells of clean skin and her shampoo. "Hey, kid."

Rusty frowns as he considers the pair of them, then he shrugs. "Hey. You want some pancakes?"

Andy glances to her before answering. Sharon gives him a tiny nod in response.

"Sure," he says. "Thanks."

"Rusty, I—"

"Only want one," they finish together, and Rusty looks so startled he nearly drops the eggs.

Sharon sips her cold coffee to hide her smile.

"Yeah, okay." He recovers well. "Five pancakes, coming up."


	6. To Stay

**Notes: **I am far too emotionally invested in these two considering how ambivalent I was a month ago. *sighs* This show, you guys. This show.

**To Stay**

**rosabelle**

Her hands tremble. She hides them in the pockets of her coat, but he has already seen.

He pushes elevator button for her, and follows her in. "Can I drive you home?"

She gives him a quick shake of her head. "Thank you, but I can manage."

"Sharon," he says softly. "Please."

The boy's face waits behind her closed eyes.

She relents.

She does not remember the drive home.

Children are always the hardest, but this one in particular-a boy, beaten to death by his mother's boyfriend the day after his thirteenth birthday. An argument, the man calls it, begun after he fought with the boy's mother. He says he's sorry, but the kid needed discipline.

The boy's name is Jacob, but all she sees is Rusty with his face beaten beyond recognition.

She is too small a vessel to contain such fury, such grief.

All she wants is for Andy to leave so she can settle down with wine poured into the largest glass she owns, but he lingers. He wants to take care of her, tries to convince her that she should eat.

Sharon waves away his concern and curls herself around a throw pillow. The couch is soft, and she is comfortable for the first time all day. He sits beside her head, not quite touching her hair. She closes her eyes with a weary sigh. "Thank you for the ride."

"Hey, no problem." His thumb slides across her cheek. "I could stay and keep you company tonight."

He must feel the way she stiffens, because he hastens to add, "Sleeping. That's all I meant. It's been a rough day."

"I know what you mean." And she does, but-she has only invited him to stay on the nights she wants more. To do more makes her feel... crowded. She enjoys what they have, but she was honest with him before. She likes having her own space. She likes her solitude.

She likes sleeping knowing that no one will wake her.

"Or I could take a cab back to my car," he says, when her hesitation stretches on.

She could withdraw into herself, where she is comfortable.

Suddenly, she does not want to.

When he starts to rise, she reaches up and settles a hand on his knee. "Wait."

"You sure?"

She scoots a little closer, until her head just brushes his thigh. "I'd hate for you to waste the money."

"I don't mind."

She hums quietly and nods, eyes still closed. "Like you said," she murmurs, "it's been a rough day. I could use some company."

"You wanna talk?"

"Not now." She's not sure she's ready to cry in front of him yet.

So he doesn't ask, and sits silently beside her until she falls asleep right where she is.

She wakes an hour later when the door opens (Rusty is home, she thinks drowsily), a blanket tucked carefully around her shoulders, the pillow still hugged to her chest, and Andy still at her side.


	7. Apologies

**Notes: **Sooo I think I promised some of you a fluffy scene and this... is not that. But they're still kind of cute? (I just want to write angsty, terrible things lately and I've been trying _so hard_ to resist because seriously these people have enough problems in canon and don't need my imagination on top of it and come on, self, write something cheerful.) But the next one will be sweeter! Thank you all for reading—your comments make my day. :)

**Apologies**

**rosabelle**

"I'm sorry," she says tartly, "but I didn't realize you were going to be such a child about this."

And she knows, she _knows_ how she sounds and even admits to herself that perhaps it's more than is called for, but he stands in her office and glowers right back at her and his anger fuels her own, so together, they spiral out of control.

"And I didn't realize that you were going to be such a—" He catches himself when her nostrils flare. "You know what, never mind. I'm sorry I asked."

"Oh no, Lieutenant, this is all very enlightening." She stalks to the blinds and yanks them shut, because no one is pretending not to watch and they will have to satisfy their voyeuristic curiosity elsewhere today. The blinds swing back and forth with the force of her anger long after she turns back to him. "Continue."

He doesn't budge an inch from where he stands. "All I asked for was a favor."

Neither does she. "You _asked_ me to interfere with an ongoing FID investigation."

"Not interfere. Just... ask them to hurry it up so I can get back to work."

"That's interfering!" She rests against the edge of her desk, glaring at him over folded arms. "As well as showing preferential treatment to you, not to mention it being _annoying_."

"What, suddenly you're worried?" He snorts as he says it, and it's such a ridiculous sound she almost laughs. "You never minded being annoying when you were annoying _me_. It was your specialty!"

She does smile then, if only because he's right.

It requires more effort than she likes to force her face into a frown. "Yes, well. It's different when you're asked the same thing twenty times a day for thirty years. So_ no_, I will not ask FID expedite your OIS investigation, and you will wait to return to duty just like everybody else."

But, because she knows that she's been pricklier with him about this than she would've been with anyone else, she concedes, "But if I have been insensitive—"

The look he gives her is part amusement, part incredulity. _"If?"_

"There's only one apology you're going to get, and this is it," she warns him. "So do you want to hear it or not?"

He sighs, but motions for her to continue.

"If I've been insensitive to the fact that this has been a stressful situation for you, then I am... willing... to apologize."

"Okay," he tells her, calmer now than before. "I'm listening."

She nods, and lets the angry flush fade from her face.

He waits.

She tugs self-consciously at her sleeve and murmurs, "I'm sorry."

He surprises her again by smiling. "You know, I think this is the first time you've ever apologized to me for anything. Ever."

"Well—" She perches herself on the edge of her desk, and finds that his smile draws out her own. It becomes a smirk when she adds, "Don't get used to it."


	8. Maybe Someday

**Notes: **Remember when this was supposed to be a oneshot? Something else that is no longer a oneshot: the Rusty runs away from home story. The first chapter should be posted this week. Thank you all so much for reading! I love waking up to your comments. :)

**Maybe Someday**

**rosabelle**

"Why'd you get a divorce?"

He asks her out of the blue one night as they sit on her couch with half-empty takeout boxes still behind them on the table. She lounges with one pillow cushioning her back from the armrest and the other in her lap, sitting lengthwise with her toes near his thigh.

Sharon shrugs, and hugs the pillow closer. "Why did you?"

"Lots of reasons," Andy tells her. "Things happened. I was an asshole."

"No," she deadpans. He slaps her foot, and she makes a quiet noise of amusement before she answers. "Same as you."

"You were an asshole?" he suggests dryly.

"Things happened." She pauses. "Though... I'm not sure that _asshole_ is his word of choice, but yes, actually, that's probably what Jack would tell you. It's certainly not _his_ fault."

Wryness has given way to bitterness, and his hands make more soothing motions on her calves. She plucks a stray thread free of the pillow and sighs. "It was supposed to be a trial separation at first. Then it was easy. Then it just... was."

"What changed?"

She smiles a little. "Me. I used to think that I wanted him around. Not for me, but for our children."

"Do they seem him much?"

"Not since he was here last year." Sharon shakes her head. "I feel sorry for him, mostly, that he has no idea what amazing people we made together."

"His loss," Andy agrees, and she knows that whatever his failings were as a husband, he's done the best he can for his girls.

"He left me a letter when he left," she continues. "When I saw it, I realized that I knew exactly what it said, and I didn't want to go back there again. He's sorry for everything, but I've always been cold, you get the idea. I wasn't sure I wanted a new relationship, but I wanted the option to have one if I did."

"His loss," he echoes, and she smiles.

"I like to think so."

"You ever think about getting married again?"

She sincerely hopes that he hasn't done something foolish like buy her a ring. But he appears to be nothing more than idly curious in the face of her sudden scrutiny, and she allows herself to relax. "Not really."

"Yeah," he says. "Me either. Probably would've ended up like Provenza."

She laughs.

"But," he adds, with a touch of seriousness, "it might be nice, growing old with someone."

She hums, amused, and prods her toe against his thigh. "I plan to stay young forever."

He catches her ankle and pulls her feet into his lap one by one, and he tells her she looks beautiful. She smiles then, and gently steers the conversation to different waters, but silently repeats the question to herself through the night.

No, she used to think, never. Now she hesitates to say no and even more to say yes, with her most truthful answer lying somewhere between _never_ and _maybe someday._


	9. Warm Bodies

**Notes: **Force Unbroken and I spent three hours talking out Sharon Raydor's life history via PM and it was this multi-layered quietly tragic awful thing that _never ended_, so here is a story where Sharon has hugs and kisses and good sex and a relationship with someone that actually cares about her for once. (Story does not actually contain sex, but it's still probably on the N side of NSFW.)

**Warm Bodies**

**rosabelle**

Sometimes, when sleep comes slowly to her, she turns onto her side and counts the heartbeats between his snores.

Sometimes, she is tempted to reach out and touch his face, to run her fingertips along his jawline. But she knows that will wake him. She would be mortified to be caught like that and she remembers too well the annoyance of being woken.

So she contents herself with watching, and with listening.

And sometimes, she will feel him stir, and then she will curl herself a little closer so that if his eyes open, she can kiss him and murmur, "You're awake."

Those times, he makes a low sound deep in his throat and draws her lower lip between his, his hand coming to bury itself in her hair.

She always shivers at the touch of fingernails against her scalp.

Sometimes, she wishes that she hadn't waited her entire life to have good sex.

Because it _is_ good sex. Fantastic sex, really, even in spite of their age and his health and all their little imperfections. It's certainly far better than she remembers it, and there are times when she just wants to bask in it.

She thinks she surprises him with her enthusiasm.

She surprises herself too, sometimes—not because she has desire, she's always had desire, but because she's enjoying expressing it with someone other than herself. That's new.

He surprises her, too, with the attention he pays her. She never asks what he thinks, because she certainly doesn't want to tell him if he has no idea, but the man is a detective. If he doesn't know, then he at least suspects that until now she's never been with anyone but Jack. She bristles a little at first, because she doesn't need him taking special care with her.

When she realizes that he does it for his own enjoyment as much as hers, then she counts herself blessed and allows herself to, for once in her life, feel warm and cherished.

He would sleep with his arms around her, if she would let him. She doesn't—she tries, and it makes her feel trapped and restless, and then she squirms against his arms so that he cannot sleep, either. But she can sleep beside him, quietly and easily, and she does. First one night a week, then two. Now they are at three, and she wonders what they will do when they spend more nights together than apart.

But on nights like these, when she kisses him until sleep finally comes, when she drifts in and out of dreams with his warmth at her side, when she knows that she will open her eyes in the morning and see him smile at her because he thinks he is lucky to wake up beside her... on nights like these, she thinks that it wouldn't be so terrible, seeing him every day.

On nights like these, she can admit to herself that she's fallen in love with this man.


	10. Day to Day

**Notes: **(1) There will be (much, much) more to When It Rains, but not today because (2) I signed up for an awful lot of holiday exchanges with rapidly approaching deadlines, which is further complicated because (3) I'm sick, (4) I need to make dozens of cookies, and (5) the only thing I want to write is schmoopy sex which (6) this story is not. Thank you all for your lovely comments! :)

**Day to Day**

**rosabelle**

He likes her legs. She sees him sometimes, watching her. He sends her little sidelong glances when everyone else's attention is elsewhere. Sometimes she finds herself dressing to tease him, wearing skirts that accentuate the curve of her hips and pants that lengthen her legs.

He strolls up to her, when they are alone in the break room and slides into the seat opposite her. "You look nice today, Captain," he tells her in a low voice.

She hums, pleased, and smiles into her tea. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

She doesn't kiss him at work.

That's one of her rules.

He agrees, in principle, that they need to remain professional at work. But he also sees nothing objectionable about locking the doors to her office and drawing the blinds, just for a few moments. Just to talk, just for a little privacy. It's not like he's asking to have sex on her desk.

Which is good, because she's fairly certain that the desk has already been defiled in that particular manner.

It takes him a moment for comprehension to dawn upon his face, but when it does his horror is priceless, and then he goes and proves her point by snickering to himself whenever Agent Howard makes an appearance.

Okay, he says. Maybe she's right. No, she's definitely right. It's a bad idea.

He does know what she likes to hear.

She is more relaxed when they with their friends outside of the office. Not enough to kiss him there, either, because she's never been particularly demonstrative or openly affectionate in public spaces, but they're all touchier when they're out celebrating after a case. It's taken Provenza six months, but he no longer sighs and prays for death at the sight of them. Amy always smiles at the pair of them and, unexpectedly, so does Julio, though his are quieter and more subdued. Mike says nothing and treats them both exactly as he always has.

At restaurants, she sits thigh to thigh with him and, sometimes, she curls her little finger around his beneath the table. He rests his hand lightly on her knee and helps her into her coat at the end of the night. When they leave, he walks her back to her car with their arms linked together.

Sometimes, he follows her home.

And that is the other reason she won't kiss him at work, because when they arrive back at her condo at the end of a long day of watching without touching, when she closes the front door firmly behind her and turns to him, when he grasps the collar of her coat in his hands and draws her closer, when he kisses her like he is starved for her, his fingers warm and steady against her skin as he cups her face in his hands, her tongue caressing his and her arms twined around his neck, and they kiss until the quiet noises in her throat become whimpers—well, that is something worth waiting for.


	11. Held Together

**Notes:** This one is rather... unrepentantly porny, so, uh... don't be reading it at Christmas dinner where Grandma can read over your shoulder. :D

**Held Together**

**rosabelle**

"Open your eyes."

He whispers the plea between kisses, his words unbearably warm on her skin and warmer still when she feels them settle in her belly. She trembles at the sound of his voice but does as he asks, and combs her fingers through his hair as she moves atop him.

It's easiest to hold each other this way, him sitting upright and her straddling his lap. She can twine her arms around his shoulders and draw him closer when she wants to, and the touch of his hands on her back makes her shiver when he traces the outline of her spine with his fingernails.

She's learned to read the subtle changes in his expression. His breath hitches and his hands tighten on her waist, and she knows that he's almost there. When he shudders, she tightens her arms and cradles his head against her shoulder as his breathing slows.

She doesn't know how much time passes before he whispers her name. "You're going to kill me."

He sounds breathless still, and her mouth curves into a pleased smile.

She tilts her forehead against his when he kisses her, lighter than before, teasing and whisper soft.

He plans to make her go slowly, then.

Oh God.

Her eyes slide closed again as his lips travel down her neck. She can't help it—sometimes, he overwhelms her senses and one of them has to go.

He reaches between them to touch her, his thumb gliding back and forth in impossibly slow strokes. Once every second or more, no faster. She swallows back the sounds that rise in her throat and squirms against his hand, trying to urge him faster. A sigh escapes anyway when his other hand brushes the underside of her breast, and his mouth finds the pulse point at the base of her throat.

She knows he's watching her. Each time she feels herself tensing, desperate with the desire to let that warmth touch every nerve in her body—_each time_, he moves his hand away to trail along the inside of her thigh.

He's going to kill her too.

It might be worth it.

"Enough," she murmurs finally, sure that she can't last another unbearable second. He laughs quietly in her ear when she whimpers. "I—I can't—"

His touch changes without warning. She comes, trembling, with one of his hands between her legs and the other teasing a nipple, and she hides her face in his neck to muffle a keening sort of moan that she doesn't care enough to be embarrassed about. When she comes back to herself, her arms are limp around his neck and his warm hands are rubbing gentle circles in her shoulder blades.

She inhales, and releases it as a breathless sort of laugh. "Oh, God."

He laughs too, a low sound that makes her smile as she lowers her chin on his shoulder, and she takes a moment to rest against him before the room grows cold around her.


End file.
